


Sweet Vengeance

by whitchry9



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Diabetes, Doughboys - Freeform, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical, Medical Conditions, Tony wants a giraffe, Zoo, the fucking doughboys honestly, very heavy bromance but could be read as pre slash, worst villains ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 17,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony blames the Doughboys, because it was during the middle of a battle with them that he went down, and correlation equals causation, right?<br/>Also, how did he wind up with a shitty pancreas after everything else that went on. Not fair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for title ideas on my tumblr, since I was having the hardest time to come up with one, and while I didn't use any of them, they were absolutely priceless, like seriously.

Tony maintains that it only happened because Jarvis was far too nosy and apparently had nothing better to do with his time than bother his creator.

 

“Sir,” Jarvis noted, “in the past nine days, you have lost a total of 1.1kg. This is cause for alarm.”

Tony only waved a hand in the general direction of the ceiling before he removed the screwdriver from his mouth to speak.

“Probably cause I haven't been eating enough, and fighting too many aliens and robots.”

“Actually, your caloric intake has been above average for more than a week, and should more than account for your increase in exercise.”

Tony shrugged, making an adjustment to the boot of the latest Iron Man suit.

“Well, we can keep an eye on it, but I'm not really worried.”

“Sir-” Jarvis began, but was cut off when Tony looked up and saw Pepper at the door.

“Mute,” he mumbled, and Jarvis was silenced just as Pepper walked in.

 

“Tony, you have been avoiding me for days,” she accused.

Tony frowned, cause he really didn't think so. He hadn't been actively avoiding Pepper. Or he didn't remember. Either could be possible. In fact, he sort of didn't remember the last time he'd seen her. Or anyone. Or eaten.

It was a really interesting project.

 

“Totally not on purpose, Peps,” he told her. “Did you bring all of those for _me?_ ” he asked, faking a smile as he glanced around U at the folders in her hand. “Do I get to autograph things for my fans?”

Pepper sighed at him, but it wasn't a worrying sigh, it was a fondly exasperated sigh, which was much safer.

“If your fans happen to be board members, then yes, otherwise, I just need you to sign these.”

Tony beamed at her. “Pep, everyone is my fan. _Everyone._ Remember? Iron Man.”

Pepper turned one corner of her mouth up, and Tony counted that as a win.

“Dum-E, bring me a pen. No, not that one, it's broken. Left. Other left. Yes, that one. Bring it here,” he ordered.

Dum-E picked up the specific pen in his claw and dropped it in Tony's hand after manouvering across the room. He only got stuck once on the edge of the table, and managed to deliver the pen without stabbing Tony, so a vast improvement on the last time Tony had asked him for one.

“Thanks buddy,” he said, and gave him a pat. Dum-E whirred happily, and skittered off. U looked forlorn at the lack of attention, so Tony gave him a pat too.

Pepper tossed down the folders. “They all need to be signed by the end of the day, no exceptions Tony!”

“Aw, Pep,” he whined.

Pepper glared at him. “No Tony. Now, do I need to sit down here with you and watch, or will you do it on your own.”

“I am an adult,” he protested.

She only levelled a look at him, and yeah, okay, that probably wasn't the best argument he could have come up with, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept or eaten and his head hurt, so maybe she won that round.

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered. “Come by later. Bring food. Good food. Chinese, you know the kind I like, and I promise I'll have them all done.”

Pepper patted him on the head like he'd done to his bots, and he wanted to growl, because hello, adult, but it was also really nice and goddamn he was an adult, and needed to stop this.

She frowned for a moment, and turned to sniff the air.

“Have you been stashing food down here again? It smells like fruit.”

“What, no Pepper. Ask Jarvis. It was probably Dum-E. Or Clint in the vents. Not me.”

She frowned at him, but nodded, and turned to leave.

He sniffed the air experimentally. He didn't know what she was talking about.

With Pepper gone, he turned his attention to the stack of folders she left and began reading through the top document in the first one.

It was going to take a while.

“Jarvis, tunes. Oh, unmute, then tunes. Thanks buddy.”

He read about proposals to expand their Japan factory to the tune of Back in Black.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tony's eyes snapped open and there was definitely something he was missing.

“Jarvis?” he asked, because his music was not on, and he was fairly certain it was supposed to be.

He clawed the paper off his cheek that was clinging to it, and glanced around. Still in the workshop, that was good.

“Sir, there is a call to Assemble.”

Yes, that's what woke him up, the alarm. It was programmed to override his music, which was why it had stopped playing. Actually, it was probably more the music stopping that had woken him up than it was the alert. He needed to do something about that.

“Which suit? What is it?”

“Mark 47 is being prepared, and I believe the Doughboys have made a reappearance.”

Tony led his head hit his workbench again.

“Seriously? You woke me up for that? Can't you let, I don't know, Clint and Spider-man take care of it or something? This hardly requires all of the Avengers.”

“There have been... upgrades since the last time you fought them. They are now different colours, and seem to have corresponding powers.”

Tony picked his head up and rubbed it.

“Great.”

And he hadn't finished the paperwork. Pepper was going to kill him, _and_ withhold Chinese food.

Whatever. He could get some with the team later.

Yeah. That would work.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony didn't want Chinese anymore.

The Doughboys? Yeah, they looked a bit too much like the chicken balls he so adored. There would be no Chinese food for a while, and that made Tony very mad.

Which only meant he wanted to kill all of them that much faster so they could go out for some form of food that didn't remind him of this disgusting mess.

Which just made it harder, because they came in all different colours, ruining about half of his favourite foods. Apparently they'd been upgraded or something, each colour doing something different and yet equally annoying or disgusting.

 

The orange ones, which spit acid, looked a lot like pumpkin pie after they'd been hit with a repulsor or one of Hawkeye's sonic arrows, and Tony was not looking forward to Thanksgiving. Maybe they'd have apple pie this year.

Definitely, he concluded, after hitting yet another, and watching it splatter all over a nearby car. He hoped they had insurance for that. The paint on it melted slightly, and he winced. He just hoped none of it got on his suit, since the bodies themselves seemed to be acidic. Thankfully, the orange ones seemed to be fewest in number.

 

The red ones looked a lot like tomatoes after they were finished with, and pasta sauce, and jam, and a number of other foods he wouldn't be thinking about after this was over. If this was ever over. At least the red ones only spit fire. Yeah, only.

It could have been worse, Tony told himself.

 

At least the blue ones made everything they touched turn to ice, which was useful if the power was harnessed in such a way that they put out the fires the red ones made.

Honestly, if Tony was to design a rainbow of flying blobs, he'd at least give them powers that didn't contradict or cancel out each other.

(And yeah, so maybe he considered about half a dozen ways he could improve on the design, but that wasn't him preparing to take over the world, it was just strategy.)

 

The green ones acted a lot like Clint's putty arrows, exuding a sticky substance that trapped nearly everything it came into contact with, including cars, bikes, and in one memorable instance, a small dog that Hulk carefully plucked free, leaving half its fur behind, and carried gently to a park bench.

Guacamole would be banned from the Tower until future notice.

 

The yellow ones looked like mashed bananas, or pudding, but certainly didn't smell like it, especially when Thor electrocuted them. They had a tendency to burst into enormous puddles of slime when they were even touched, which Tony suspected was their purpose. Self destruction.

It was almost amusing to watch people sliding through them, but it wasn't nearly as funny when he had to rescue Clint from one when he was nearly eaten by a black one.

 

The black ones didn't seem to like flying as much, or at least weren't as good at it, and remained closer to the ground. Or maybe that was for better deployment, since all they did was leave a trail of spikes wherever they went, like the world's worst slime trail.

 

The purple ones literally did nothing that Tony could see. They didn't spit anything, they didn't shoot anything, and nothing dripped from them. The purple ones even seemed the least intelligent of the bunch, just sort of hovering around and bumping into things.

Tony snickered at that, because Clint seemed to take it as a personal offense because they were his colour.

Not that Tony was proud about what the red and yellow ones did, but at least they did something, okay?

 

A blue one hovered over a recently set fire by a red one and an arrow sailed into it. It promptly froze and dropped, putting the small fire out.

“Nice shot Hawkeye,” he commented.

“Ninja,” Clint reminded him.

Tony laughed. Sure.

He spun around and headed towards a gang of green ones seemingly intent on sticking Hulk to the ground. Perhaps they didn't appreciate his puppy rescue. The repulsors made quick work of them, and Hulk smiled in thanks, bearing all of his teeth.

He leaped off towards some orange ones in the distance, and Tony winced. He just hoped the acid wouldn't hurt Hulk's skin.

Nah, he was tough.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Tony opened his eyes and was a bit lost, for the second time that day. Assuming it was the same day. God, he hoped so. He was confused for sure, but if he was that confused... well. No, he just wouldn't think about it.

“Tony?”

“What happened? Did we win?” He squinted up at them, because yes, they all seemed to be above him. There was probably a reasonable explanation for that.

Oh, lying on the ground. Yes, that would work. Which begged the question, what was he doing on the ground?

“Yes, we won, no thanks to you,” Natasha told him impatiently, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“We've got medics coming,” Steve assured him, which was totally the last thing he wanted to hear.

“Bruce? Is it Bruce or Hulk?”

“I'm over here Tony,” Bruce said, definitely tired, but it wasn't a Hulk roar, so Tony relaxed.

But wait, medics, and he was still on the ground, so, something was wrong.

“Um, so what happened?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” Steve said gently. “Nothing hit you. We asked Jarvis, and he has no idea. He said you just stopped responding, so he took control of the suit and set you down. In the middle of the street,” he added with a frown.

“Don't be mean to my AI,” Tony frowned.

“My apologies Sir,” Jarvis said in his ear.

“S'not your fault,” he grunted. God he was tired.

“Hey, eyes open Stark,” Natasha ordered, which was weird, cause he hadn't closed them.

Or maybe he had, cause there she was prying them open.

“Stark,” she said again.

“Ugh,” he grunted, cause wow he was eloquent today.

“I'm as pleased about this as you are, but you're not going to pass out again. Not allowed.”

Tony sighed, because that seemed to be about all he could do. Sigh, grunt, the occasional noise.

 

Bruce appeared, looking tired and pale, but his pants were still mostly on, which meant the fabric Tony was working on was definitely getting there. Apparently they hadn't completely stretched back, but it was sure better than poor Bruce waking up entirely pantsless.

 

“Tony?” Bruce said gently. It probably wasn't the first time he'd said it, because Tony wasn't listening, _again._ He was having a hard time with that today.

“Bruce,” Tony sighed.

“How do you feel? Any pain?”

Tony thought about that. Wiggled his fingers and toes, shifted as much as he could inside the armour. It didn't hurt to breathe, nothing felt out of place, so unless it was completely numb, he was fine.

“No pain,” he told Bruce, who nodded and looked pleased at that.

“How do you feel otherwise? Tired? Dizzy? Headache?”

“Tired,” Tony murmured, and definitely didn't close his eyes, because Natasha was right there with her fingernails, oh god the fingernails.

“Are you having any trouble breathing?”

“What? No.”

Bruce frowned. “Okay, you're just breathing really fast.”

Tony hadn't noticed. And even if he had, he wasn't sure he could stop. He blamed the stress of the fight. He wondered if they'd finished dealing with the Doughboys, and if so, who the hell was going to clean up that mess, because it sure as hell wasn't going to be him. He needed sleep. And food. Although maybe not in that order. Food and sleep?

He probably couldn't do both at the same time, which was something he needed to work on. But opening his mouth to tell Jarvis to make a note seemed like an awful lot of work. Maybe if he somehow got a neural link...

Damn, he can't make a note of that either.

 _Remember,_ he told himself.

That would definitely work.

“Tony?” Steve asked.

Tony blinked at him.

“Are you alright? You've been staring off into space for a minute.”

Oh. He hadn't noticed that.

“We got all of them,” he added. “SHIELD has a cleanup crew on the way. But most of the damage was contained to a couple blocks, and the acidity of the orange ones seems to wear off after a few minutes. But how are you? Did something happen, did one of them hit you?”

Tony thought back. He didn't think so. He didn't remember that happening, but really, memory was hardly a helpful indicator.

“What's the last thing you remember?” Bruce suggested. There were sirens in the distance, and they made Tony's head ache.

Tony scrunched his face up. “Rescuing Hulk from some green ones? I think.”

Bruce considered it. “We remember that. There was some more stuff afterwards though before we noticed you were down. Does Jarvis know?”

“There is a three minute window that Sir does not have memory of.”

“I haven't slept,” Tony muttered, the sirens nearly drowning him out.

Bruce leaned in close to hear him and nodded. “Okay. I bet you haven't eaten either.”

He smiled when Tony grimaced. “Yeah, this could just be a combination of exhaustion and malnutrition or dehydration, but still, it's best if we get you checked out.”

Tony didn't have the energy to argue. The sirens stopped behind him and two SHIELD paramedics came into view.

 

He drifted after that. Thor heaved him into the ambulance still in his armour, probably because he could have been injured inside, and hey look at that, it was like a ready made backboard.

They pulled bits of the gauntlets and boots off though, and kept poking him, but after that, it was only clouds.

_And space and darkness and sand and water..._

 


	4. Chapter 4

Tony slept.

They took more blood, and he stirred, and then slept more.

He figured he was probably in the hospital, and that was good, it was safe. There was always someone in his room when he surfaced to consciousness for however long, always someone in a chair by his bedside, or hovering near the door, or on one occasional, sat on the bed with him. It was nice, knowing they cared.

 

He heard bits of conversations on occasion.

 

“ _Eight units an hour until it's in a normal range then we can taper the dose...”_

“ _...ketoacidosis, and your respiratory rate was trying to compensate. I know you're not that much into medicine, but I figured...”_

“ _Pepper came by to see you...”_

“ _Getting there, taper the dose...”_

“ _He's tired Steve, he hasn't slept. He'll wake up when he's ready...”_

 

Honestly it was a bit of a mess. Sometimes he thought they were talking to him, and sometimes he fell asleep during one conversation and woke up during another and thought it was still the same one, and he just didn't know.

 

Until he finally broke the surface of sleep and emerged, not very refreshed, but feeling better than the last time he'd graced consciousness.

 

Bruce was the only one in the room, standing at the foot of his bed examining a chart. Probably his chart.

Why wasn't everything digitized? This was why healthcare ran into problems. Too much paper.

Bruce saw him and smiled.

“Hey Tony. How are you feeling? You've been asleep for a while.”

“Yeah, well-” his voice broke. God his throat was dry.

Bruce moved to his side and held a cup of water for him to sip out of.

He tried again. “Yeah, well you try staying up for days and then fighting stupid rainbow blobs.”

Bruce smiled again. “I prefer to sleep more than once a week.”

“So was that is?” he asked hopefully. “Exhaustion?”

Bruce made a face. “Not quite.”

“So... what then?”

“Tony, your blood sugar was 837 mg/dl.”

Tony blinked at him. “I'm guessing that's... bad?”

Bruce grinned at him. “Yeah, a little bad. It's supposed to be in the range of 80 to 120.”

“High then,” Tony concluded. “Definitely high. What does that even mean? I swear, if it was the smoothie, I shouldn't have eaten the smoothie that Dum-E brought me, but J said it was okay, but who knows, there could have been an entire sugar cane in there for all that I know, but if that's the issue, I won't drink any more smoothies, even if I personally watch every-”

“No Tony,” Bruce cut in, probably to stop the stream of words that was pouring out of Tony's mouth. A wise choice. “Even if you had ingested that much sugar, your body should have metabolized it.”

“And it... didn't?” he guessed.

Bruce shook his head. “No, it didn't.”

“So, something is wrong then.”

“Yes. Do you know what the disorder is when there is an autoimmune reaction against the beta cells in the pancreas? The insulin producing cells?” he said gently. Knew that _of_ _course_ Tony knew.

Tony blinked. Shook his head. Refused to believe it.

“I'm... I'm too old for that. It can't be... No!”

He shook his head again, like refusing to believe it would make reality go away.

_It had worked before it could work again oh god please let it work again._

“You're wrong.”

_It had worked before it won't work again you've used up all your chances sorry, nope._

“Sorry Tony,” Bruce said, and he did sound very sorry, like it was his fault Tony's immune system was crap and didn't work sometimes and then was hyperactive against itself and god he hated everything.

 

“Tony?” Steve asked, coming in at the worst possible time, as was his way, just when Tony didn't want to talk to or see anyone or even continue existing, and maybe he was overreacting but he still felt like crap and it was totally justified.

He rolled over to face the wall and ignored Steve entirely.

Bruce sighed, and took Steve out of the room. He could still hear snippets of their conversation.

 

“ _Steve, how much do you know about diabetes?”_

“ _Not much, why?”_

“ _Tony has just been diagnosed...”_

 

He stopped listening at that point. He didn't want to have to listen to Steve's fretting bullshit over Tony's self care and his ability to help the team and how much he would need to be cared for in the future, because god if he couldn't manage to feed himself before, then he'd surely kill himself now.

 

Tony willed himself back to sleep, and it worked, but probably only because he was still exhausted from the sleep debt.

 


	5. Chapter 5

When he woke up next, it was sunny in his room. He squinted, because ouch.

“Feeling better?” Bruce asked quietly.

Tony spun to see him in the doorway.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. He did feel better. Not _good_ , because he was still achy all over and the sunlight was giving him a headache, but he wasn't as bone deep tired as he'd been. And god, he hadn't even realized how exhausted he'd been. “What time is it?”

“Nearly noon.” Bruce walked into the room and tossed Tony's chart to him.

Paper. Right.

“Why isn't everything digitized?” he asked, remembering one of the thoughts he'd had.

“It is, but I like the paper format. I like being able to hold it,” Bruce replied.

Tony rolled his eyes. “What are you, Steve?”

One side of Bruce's mouth tilted up in a smile. “Don't say it so loud, he'll hear you.”

“Is he here?”

Bruce shrugged. “Somewhere. He was pretty worried about you. Wouldn't leave the first night at all.”

“How many nights has it been?” Tony frowned.

“Just two. You woke up last night for a bit, and you were lucid. Remember?”

Yeah. All too well.

He groaned, raking his hands over his face. The action tugged at the IV tubing, and he glared at it.

“Don't even think about it,” Bruce said, without even looking up. And oh, there was the digital copy of his chart on the tablet Bruce was typing on. Which Tony really would have preferred to look at, because _internet,_ but Bruce knew that because he was too damn smart for his own good.

Tony took the paper chart that had been thrown at him and scanned it.

It was just the recent stuff, thankfully, because otherwise it would have been about the size of the Hulk.

Lots of lab results, with really messed up numbers to start off with. His blood gasses were terrible, and he'd been so malnourished that his body had started to break down fatty acids for energy, leading to ketoacidosis. Not fun. Those things were toxic.

 

But the worst part was there at the bottom of one of the sheets. His newest diagnosis: diabetes mellitus, type I.

Great.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was another night in hospital before the doctors were comfortable with releasing him. And maybe comfortable wasn't the right word. But his labs were nearly back to normal, and despite the fact that his pancreas had decided to stop working, Tony was back in the condition he was usually in, for better or worse.

 

He'd gotten a crash course in diabetes from a diabetes educator, and how to manage it with diet from a dietitian. Not that he really needed it. He learned quickly, and that applied to everything, not just engineering. So dosage ratios and sliding scales made sense to him, and would be no trouble to apply. He ate a certain amount of carbs, he injected a certain amount of insulin. If his blood sugar was too high, he'd inject more insulin. If he was too low, he'd eat a certain number of carbs. It was all about balance.

 

He really wasn't looking forward to the amount of needles in his future though. Shots at least twice a day to start, and testing his blood sugar levels at least four times a day. Probably more, if he wanted to maintain better levels. And Tony did. He was kind of excited to look at all the data, see how insulin and exercise and eating affecting his blood sugar levels. He had a thing for graphs. And maybe it was a little weird, but he figured it would serve him well in this situation.

 

And the crash course certainly hadn't been fun for anyone. Steve and Nat both sat in. Bruce was already familiar enough with diabetes management, and everyone agreed it would be for the best if the entire team wasn't in the room. So Clint and Thor stayed home, and Bruce would educate them later.

 

“I have to do what now?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

“You heard me correctly Mr Stark. Regular meals.” The woman smiled at him.

Tony really wondered where SHIELD had dug her up. She had to have a clearance level high enough to access at least some of his medical records, but also had to be decent at her job. Which currently amounted to lecturing him about eating properly.

“Right. What was your name again?” Tony spotted the name tag on her scrub shirt just as she said it.

“Nancy.”

“Nancy, okay. So here's the thing Nancy, call me Tony by the way, you're making me feel old, _I don't have a normal eating schedule._ Or an anything schedule, for that matter. Sleep? Nope. Eating? Sure as hell not. I'm not even sure my brain runs in the same dimensions as everyone else.”

Steve cleared his throat behind Tony, but Natasha must have stopped him, because nothing followed.

Nancy just smiled a little bit at him.

“Alright Tony. I understand that you've operated pretty much that way since the age you started drinking coffee, which I don't even want to think about. But here's the thing- it's no longer simply about keeping time with the world, or getting rest before you pass out. If you do not keep a normal schedule with your insulin injections and meals, you could die. It's that simple. You can't talk your way out of that one, can't engineer something around it. There is no shortcut for this. And I know that's not the kind of guy you are, because you're always making things better, but for now, this is all you've got.”

She gestured to the glucometer and the practice insulin pens spread out on the table in between them.

“And maybe you want to devote half of your fortune to developing a cure, but until then, this is how you're going to stay alive.”

Tony frowned at her, but she continued on, unperturbed.

“I can give you all the tools to keep you healthy, the best tech, the newest innovations, but none of it will matter if you don't try. Do you know what some of the complications of diabetes can be, Mr Stark?”

Tony grimaced at the use of his last name, but she continued on.

“Heart disease. Neuropathy. Kidney disease. Hypertension. Blindness. Infections can lead to amputations. Tell me Mr Stark, are you attached to your limbs?”

He winced. “Alright, you've made your point. But here's my counter. I'm not afraid of needles. I've had way worse than that before, and I'm sure I will again. So I don't mind having to inject insulin multiple times per day if it means I have more freedom with my eating schedule and sleep patterns. Plus, I can't always guarantee I'll have time to eat something. What if aliens attack Manhattan again? I can't take a time out to eat a muffin. Think of the headlines.”

He heard a slight exhale behind him that was Natasha's version of a laugh. He grinned at Nancy.

“So what do you say? Is this something that's doable, or do I need to go invent an artificial pancreas and hope that New York remains protected until I do.”

Nancy smiled at him, and this time it wasn't as frightening. No teeth. “I think we can work something out. Tony.”

Tony grinned back.

 

Things went better after that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony decided that including the team in the education would probably be a good idea, so they all practiced injections on oranges. Natasha took far too much please in pretending it was Tony's flesh. Tony's neck ached in remembrance of the time she jabbed him.

Thor was still confused about the mechanism behind diabetes. (“Why would the body attack itself like that?” he asked again.) Bruce was taking it well, and Steve appeared to be too.

Clint managed to prick himself while he was trying to inject an orange, and everyone decided that perhaps they'd keep him away from the needles. Other than that, everyone seemed to be adjusting as well as could be expected.

 

Nancy set him up with a dosage based on his weight, activity level, eating habits, and insulin sensitivity.

“We'll start with 10 units of the long acting in the morning, and 8 units at night. We can increase the dose if needed, but we'll have to see.”

Tony nodded. “Got it. And what about a pump?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I've been doing research too,” Tony responded.

“Let's start you off with injections, and look at a pump later, okay? I'm glad you're thinking about it, but pumps are complicated and require a lot of training. We need to get you set up with everything else first. A lot has changed for you in the last couple of days, and I'm just trying to minimize the shock to you. Okay?”

Tony shrugged. “Sure. I've just heard they're better for control.”

“They can be. But others have found that MDIs work well for them.”

“So 10 in the morning, and 8 at night?” Tony confirmed.

“For the long acting, yes. I've got a sliding scale for the fast acting insulin which you take before meals or if you're high, but that should be a good baseline. For at least the first couple of days, I want you testing regularly. You may not recognize the symptoms of a hypo. So, before meals so you can adjust dosage, an hour or so after meals, and before bed. And of course, any time you suspect you may be high or low.”

Tony nodded. “Got it.”

 

Apparently that was all he needed to do to get discharged- agree to take medication and not be dying anymore. (It was interesting for him to experience actually being discharged, since he normally left AMA or didn't go to the hospital at all.)

 


	6. Chapter 6

By the time he got home, Jarvis had ordered everything else that he'd need. The insulin was neatly stacked in the fridge, and the glucometer and test strips were tucked away inside a pouch.

Tony eyed the black pouch with distaste. “I don't like it,” he announced.

Bruce, the only one within shouting distance, sighed. “Tony, I know this is a lot for you to be going through right now, but I promise that everyone will help you-”

“No, not that. The diabetes thing, of course I don't like it, but specifically the pouch. It's boring.” He poked at it to prove his point.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “I'm sure there's one online you can order that looks nicer.”

“I'd do it myself,” Tony informed him, “but I can't sew. Ask Jarvis. The one time I tried it turned out horribly.”

“I believe that,” Bruce muttered.

 

“I'm going to my lab. Jarvis will keep an eye on me, so don't feel the need to show up every five minutes or something.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

Tony grabbed the offending black kit and stepped in the elevator. Yes, it could definitely do with some improvements.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony really loved home.

 

“I missed you guys so much,” he sighed, hugging his bots. It was a bit awkward, because they were both confused about the situation and not really used to getting such affection.

He stepped back. “Dum-E. U. I missed you guys. Same goes for you J, but it's not like I can hug you.”

“I shall consider myself hugged,” Jarvis replied. “Although you were only gone for a few days, which is hardly unusual.”

“It felt longer. And things have changed now.” He paused. “I suppose we have some new protocols to go over. You been doing your readings?”

“Of course,” Jarvis assured him. “I am now fully knowledgeable about diabetes.”

Tony sat back in one of his spinny chairs. “Time to get to work,” he said cheerily.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Tony swore that Steve set an alarm to check on him every hour, because it seemed like every time he looked up, there he was.

“Steve,” he said, matter of fact. “I think you'll find I am recognized as a mature and responsible adult, and do not require a nanny to come check on me every hour to make sure I haven't died.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, a look that he had likely spend hours in front of the mirror perfecting. No one ever got technique that good without trying. But then maybe the serum helped. He'd have to do science to find out.

“The team agreed that someone should check on you, just to make sure you hadn't passed out with your music blaring.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Please. Jarvis would tell you if that happened.”

Steve looked skeptical. “So what are you doing down here?” He eyed the computer screen, which was filled with code.

“Writing new protocols for Jarvis. Diabetes things.”

“I thought he learned on his own?”

“He does. He just likes to have guidelines in case of emergencies when he can't confirm with me. He does have limits you know.”

Steve looked thoughtful. “I didn't know that.”

“There's a lot about Jarvis you don't know, and I intend to keep it that way. Did you just come to check to make sure I was still alive?”

“Mostly,” Steve admitted. “We were worried about you.”

Tony tilted his head. “Well, here I am.”

“Indeed,” Steve agreed. “Movie night tonight?”

Tony nodded. “My vote is for a shitty horror movie.”

“I'll tell the others. Come up around 7? I'll get Jarvis to remind you.”

Tony nodded, distracted once again with his work.

“And Tony?” Steve added, pausing in the doorway. “Mature and responsible adult? In your dreams.” He grinned and disappeared.

“Rude,” Tony muttered to himself.

But also kind of true.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They ended up watching a movie about some sort of alien monster that didn't like alcohol, so everyone in the movie had to stay drunk to stay alive. It was awful and hilarious and everyone had a hard time understand their accents.

Clint made popcorn, and Tony tested, injected, and ate accordingly.

He was very proud of himself.

 

He was a bit afraid to go to sleep that first night, without nurses or doctors being there to make sure that he would wake up, and not just slip away in the night as his blood sugar fell too low, but Jarvis promised to watch over him, and Steve kept 'accidentally' wandering into Tony's room, so he figured it would be okay.

 

And he woke up in the morning and it was such a relief. (The next three nights were better, and by the end of the week, he was confident in his ability to not die in his sleep.)

 

Because Tony was running higher than he wanted to, and what was recommended, he called up Nancy, and she adjusted his dose. He was upped to 12 units in the morning, and 10 at night, with everything else to stay the same, since his blood sugar levels were responding to the insulin appropriately, he just didn't seem to have enough of it.

 

He went three weeks without any major incidents, his numbers largely falling in the correct range except for a few times he made miscalculations because of a lack of sleep, which resulted in him running a bit high. But so far, there had been no lows, other than some very mild ones which didn't even affect him, but that he noted because it was time to test.

 

Everything else was good. He wasn't having a hard time dealing with injections or having to prick his fingers so many times a day, or even with his diet. He also ordered a new case for his glucometer, one that was red and gold and might have been Iron Man inspired. So far, living with diabetes wasn't that awful.

(Which really only meant the other shoe hadn't dropped yet, but what can you do?)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a real movie that exists. We watched it on Netflix.


	8. Chapter 8

Tony and Nat were sparring in the gym for only half an hour before she completely wiped the floor with him. To make matters worse, Bruce was in the gym meditating and was definitely judging him, which was not fair, because he just turned into a green monster and smashed things whenever he was threatened, and didn't require anything as silly as training.

Tony was about to tell him as much when he decided that many words were too hard after being beaten up by Natasha, who had left quickly to shower and change.

“Ungh,” he said instead, which he thought was very eloquent.

Bruce opened an eye and looked at him before getting up and walking over to him. He crouched down, and Tony felt very small.

“What are you doing on the floor?” he asked gently, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder.

“Tasha beat me up,” he said sadly.

“Do you feel okay?” Bruce prompted.

Tony considered that. He didn't know.

He shrugged instead.

Bruce hauled him to his feet, and wow, he was pretty strong for not being green. Tony helped, of course, because Bruce still wasn't that strong.

Bruce dragged him to the living room and dumped him on the couch, then asked Jarvis to call Natasha back, which he did, the traitor, probably to get her to beat him up again, which was not okay.

 

“Hey, stay awake for me Tony,” Bruce prompted.

Tony snorted, because that was ridiculous, of course he was awake, until he realized maybe he wasn't, because his eyes were closed, and he sort of forgot where the line between asleep and awake was, and was there more to it than closing your eyes? He didn't remember.

“Tony, I think your blood sugar is off. I'm going to test you, okay.”

Pft. That was ridiculous. Tony was marvellous, the pinnacle of health. Not as healthy as Steve of course, that man was a specimen, but he was doing alright for himself.

“I'm fine Brucie baby,” he mumbled.

“Um, no you're not, which is obvious because you just called me _baby._ Now let me test you.”

Tony dragged his hand out from where he'd hidden it, buried under his arm or something, he couldn't quite tell, his body was being weird again, and allowed Bruce to prick a finger.

 

He hummed while Bruce did it, because he felt like humming, and there was no reason he shouldn't.

Bruce made a huffing noise, and began moving around somewhere off to the side of Tony. He still wasn't clear on where any of his body was, let alone people and things in relation to his body. It was kind of a weird feeling.

 

Bruce shoved his way back into Tony's line of sight, which was, wow, rude.

“Can you chew?” he asked, no, _demanded,_ again being rude, and honestly, what sort of question was that.

“Course I can,” he drawled.

Bruce looked... something, but shoved something in Tony's mouth instead of responding.

Tony wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with whatever it was for a second, but then remember the usual response for when things were put in his mouth. Things that tasted sort of sweet, like this one did.

He chewed.

It only went well for like, a second, before he forgot how to coordinate his tongue and swallowing and saliva so he could chew things without choking on them. But whatever Bruce put in his mouth, and he really felt like he should know what it was, was sort of dry and dusty, and when Tony crunched down on it, dust filled his mouth and he choked.

Bruce hauled him up, and oh, there were his limbs, right where they should be, and why hadn't he figured that out?

He would have thought about it more, except for the choking matter, and Bruce was talking to someone. Or maybe not. Tony remembered how tired he was, and didn't quite feel like staying awake to witness the rest of whatever events were going on.

“Hey, Tony, look at me,” Bruce demanded, and he was so rude today, Tony needed to teach him manners, not like he had any.

Tony rolled his eyes, but mostly obeyed, and oh yeah, there was still whatever the hell that was in his mouth. It did not taste good. He did not want it.

And yeah, so maybe he wasn't above spitting it out like a baby.

Bruce muttered something, but scooped the mess out of Tony's mouth and off his chin, like he'd seen him do before when Clint had a seizure and bit his tongue. He scooped the blood out just the same way, and he'd said it was so Clint wouldn't choke on it, and Tony wondered if that's what he was doing now, and why.

But then Natasha showed up, and Tony forgot about Clint and Bruce, because Natasha was dangerous and last time she'd come near him while he wasn't feeling well, she stabbed him in the neck with a needle. And okay, so maybe she saved his life, but he didn't care.

Tony hissed at her, and tried to scramble away, but just because he knew where his limbs were (more in theory than in practice) didn't mean he could control them.

Natasha handed Bruce something and stepped back, out of Tony's line of sight, and he slouched back down on the couch.

“You're fine,” he assured Tony, and grabbed Tony's head. “Can you open your mouth for me?”

Tony considered it, and decided, yes, he could do that, and opened his mouth for Bruce. It had just better damn well not be whatever he'd stuck in before, because he'd be getting his finger bit if that were the case.

It wasn't, because Bruce had something stuck on his finger, and god, Tony wasn't going to think about what it could be, except it was sweet and Bruce was rubbing it on his gums and the side of his mouth and Tony's tongue ran over it and it reminded him of icing.

Maybe it was icing.

But why would Bruce put icing in his mouth?

Bruce took his finger out, and Tony was almost sad.

“Did you grab the Glucagon kit?” Bruce asked Natasha, and she told him she did.

Tony didn't know why. Bruce nodded, and stuck his finger back in Tony's mouth, again covered in the sweet substance.

“If this doesn't work, we're going to have to use it. Don't bite me Tony, come on now.”

 

Bruce kept feeding him the sweet substance, and then stabbed him again in the finger, _ouch,_ and then he and Natasha talked, and then there was another stabbing, and then Tony gradually realized his head was killing him and he needed a drink and his face and mouth were all sticky and _why._

He blinked at his teammates, trying to clear the fog from his mind.

“You back with us?” Natasha asked him. She was definitely not looking worried. She never looked worried. Nope, not ever.

“Where would I be?” he asked.

Bruce nodded. “He's not growling at you, so that's something.”

“She stabbed me before,” Tony told him, because it was very important. And relevant. “I have trust issues,” he said seriously.

Bruce nodded. “We know. How are you feeling?”

Tony shrugged, and then considered it. His head hurt. He felt hungover. He could use a nap, a snack, and a shower, but maybe not in that order.

“Blah,” he concluded.

Bruce nodded. “You just had your first serious low blood sugar. Do you think you're up to eating something?”

Tony scrunched his face up. There was something he was missing. Something icky.

“Did I... spit something out?”

Bruce nodded. “The glucose tabs. I guess you weren't a fan of the flavour. Or texture. You sort of... chewed them up a bit, and spit them out. I was worried you were going to choke on them. That's when I started rubbing icing on your gums to try and get some of it into you. We nearly used the glucagon,” he said seriously, and Tony was considering that. Bruce sounded _very_ _serious._ “You were 33 Tony. Much further and you'd have gone unconscious or had a seizure. You could have fallen into a coma even.”

Tony frowned, and yeah, that sounded bad, but his head hurt and he couldn't remember why Bruce was so sad. Or maybe he wasn't sad. His face was confusing.

“Do you think you could eat something now?” Bruce prompted again, and yeah, Tony was supposed to be thinking about that.

“Yeah?” he said. “Juice or something?”

He tried to push himself up into a more upright position on the couch, but his arms felt like gelatin, and they were good for absolutely nothing.

Bruce helped him while Natasha disappeared for a moment, returning with a juice box. She popped the straw in for him, which was nice, since his hands were kind of shaking, not that he'd admit it.

He slurped at it, and it was good, washing the sugary taste out of his mouth.

But wow, he felt like crap.

“What am I now?” he asked around the straw.

“You were 33 when we started, then you were 35, and then 42, and we're just going to check you again now and see. Hand,” Bruce ordered.

Tony still couldn't find his limbs, and Natasha grabbed his hands and gave it to Bruce. Tony nodded at her thankfully.

Bruce squeezed another droplet of blood out of Tony's poor abused fingers, and wow, why had they done it so many times. Did they really expect it to change?

Maybe they just didn't know what else to do besides check and wait and worry.

Yeah, Tony could understand that.

“You're up to 56 now,” Bruce told him. “How are you feeling?”

“Gross,” he muttered. “I need a shower.”

“Not yet,” Bruce told him. “I want you to be above 80 before I let you shower alone.”

Tony tilted his head. “ You inviting yourself?”

Bruce chuckled. “Nope.”

Tony stuck his tongue out. “Then I suppose I'm going to have to eat something.” He looked up at Natasha hopefully. “Food?”

She rolled her eyes. “We'll see,” she said, stalking off towards the kitchen.

Tony tilted his head back towards Bruce. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” he replied, cleaning up the mess of things that he'd used with Tony. He spotted an icing sugar tube.

“That I was low. I didn't even notice.”

Bruce shrugged. “You had other things on your mind, and this was the first time. I knew the symptoms to look for, whereas you never listened when I tried to educate you.”

“Yeah,” Tony muttered. “Might be a bit of a mistake.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “So you're going to listen now?”

Tony spotted Natasha over his head, bearing gifts.

“Oh yes,” he said, not in response to Bruce, but to the snacks she held.

Bruce obviously didn't understand that, because he brightened and began to speak, even as Natasha passed Tony a bowl of fruit.

He resigned himself to listening, and was at least grateful he had something to do with his hands.

“Okay, so the one of the most common symptoms of hypos is sweating, which you'll notice really easily.”

Bruce gestured to his damp shirt, and Tony winced again, because _ew._

“And again, these are all just the common symptoms. You're not going to have every single one of them, and you might have some that aren't common at all. This is just going to be something we're going to have to find out as we go along. But some of the other common symptoms include shakiness, which I also noticed, your hands were trembling. Sometimes you might be hungry or thirsty. You might be dizzy or have a headache, and you might be confused or have difficulty concentrating.”

Tony frowned. “I don't want that.”

“Well, no, no one ever wants to have any of the symptoms, but they are there for a reason. It's better than not having any symptoms, and just passing out when you get to the point where your body can't function anymore.”

Tony swallowed the blueberry in his mouth and sighed. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“While I've got you listening, there are more symptoms you should look out for that might indicate your blood sugar is high.”

Tony rolled his eyes and plucked out another raspberry.

“Shut up, this is important,” Natasha ordered, stealing one of his grapes.

He whined at her, but looked to Bruce.

“If your blood sugar is high, you'll probably be thirsty, remember how you were before? You might also have headaches, difficulty concentrating, and fatigue.”

“Those are basically the same symptoms as lows,” Tony pointed out.

Bruce shrugged. “Yeah. But like I said, everyone is different, and you might have entirely different symptoms. It's just a matter of figuring them out. And really, you can have Jarvis do all that for you, so you won't even have to write things down.”

Tony frowned at his bowl. It was empty. “I suppose that is reasonable,” he muttered.

Bruce brightened, and Natasha stole the bowl out from underneath him. “Great, so what did you feel today?”

Tony scratched his head. He didn't actually remember that much from right before. “Um, sweating obviously. I was pretty confused, and I have a headache. And whatever you said, tremors I guess.”

“Noted,” Jarvis told him. “I have logged the number and symptoms, and I will look for them in the future to alert you in case you are unfamiliar with what you are experiencing.”

“Thanks buddy,” Tony sighed, laying back on the couch. He just really wanted to sleep.

“Test again, and then you can go shower and sleep,” Bruce told him, tossing the meter and lancing device to him.

Tony pouted. “What, I have to do it myself?”

“Um, yeah, considering you're an adult and your hands aren't shaking anymore, I think you can do it yourself.”

“Ugh.” Tony rolled his eyes. “You're going to have to throw me a test strip then too.”

Bruce tossed the container to him.

Tony debated sticking his tongue out, but thought better of it. Just because Natasha had left the room meant nothing.

He squeezed a droplet of blood out from his finger and let the test strip soak it up. He stared at his finger while the machine thought. There was still blood on it, and there was no way he was going to lick it off. Gross.

He wiped it on his shirt instead, which was black and already desperately in need of a wash.

Bruce sighed at him, but Tony ignored it, and perked up when the screen blinked 83 at him happily.

He held it up to Bruce. “I'm good to go now, right?”

Bruce smiled at him, and took the meter from his hand. “Yeah, you are. You should probably test in another hour or so just to make sure you didn't overdo it with the carb loading.”

Tony saluted him, and immediately winced, because _why_ would he ever do something like that?

 

He stripped his shirt off before he even entered the bathroom, and Jarvis had the water running for him already.

It was _heavenly._

 

Yeah, he was going to avoid low blood sugars whenever possible from now on. There would be science involved. And possibly chocolate.

Yes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually one of the first parts I wrote of this fic, because rambling Tony who's a mess, why not?


	9. Chapter 9

“Continuous glucose monitoring,” he said, trying out the words in his mouth. He'd only just learned of the concept, since Jarvis informed him of it shortly after his shower, during which he grumbled about the non-existence of an artificial pancreas.

“Indeed,” Jarvis replied. “The technology is still not as well known, but it looks to be promising.”

Tony cracked his fingers.

“Let's get to work J. Get me schematics, patents, and all the parts I'll need.”

He grinned. This was going to be fun.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two days on and Tony was no longer having any fun.

In fact, he'd stopped having fun about one day ago.

 

The thing was, the tech was great. It really was. Considering the limitations of technology that was readily available and affordable for the general population, the tech was fantastic.

To be honest, Tony couldn't find much to improve upon.

It was incredibly frustrating.

 

“J, I hate this. Scrap everything.” He slam dunked the hologram of the file into the garbage bin.

He set his chin in his hands and stared across the room at Dum-E and U. They only tilted their heads at him.

“This is useless,” he muttered, scowling at them. They didn't understand why, and to be honest, neither did he. It was just that sort of day.

“Sir, might I suggest you test your blood glucose. You are exhibiting two of the symptoms you previously reported, as well as another common symptom of hypoglycemia.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony snapped. “What's that?”

“Irritability.”

Tony rolled his eyes. Yeah, maybe. He examined his hands. Yup. Tremors.

 

He glanced around for the glucometer. It seemed like they were everywhere, and for a good reason. The only compromise they'd finally come to, meaning he and Bruce argued and Tony only sort of won, was that there would be multiples, just in case. It was that, or Bruce threatened to tie it to him. They finally settled on having at least three around the Tower, one in his workshop, another in his bedroom, and another in the common area. Of course, that wasn't including the one he'd built into his newest suit, but he hardly wanted to get suited up just for that.

He reached for the one on the other side of the table, and U whirred nervously.

“I'm fine,” he said, swatting the bots away. “Or I will be. Just give me a sec,” he amended, struggling with the zipper on the case. Another design flaw. Did he really have to fix everything?

 

He had to concentrate harder than he should have to get the blood on the test strip, but the machine cheerfully told him that he was measuring 69. He hated when Jarvis was right. It only made him more self righteous. And it wasn't like Tony could lie to him, because he'd already rigged the glucometers to automatically transmit their data to Jarvis so he could have it in one place for analysis. Tony did like his numbers.

“Say nothing,” Tony muttered, wiping the blood droplet on a nearby paper towel and accepting the container of glucose tabs that U brought him. They'd picked up on that programming fairly quickly, of course, the traitors.

“I wouldn't dream of it Sir,” Jarvis said. If he had a mouth he'd be smiling.

Tony tossed a tab in his mouth and crunched down on it. They were easy to use and generally worked, but the taste and texture left something to be desired.

“Jarvis, what do people use as alternatives to glucose tabs? Can you do a search? Surely someone came up with something better.”

Jarvis paused before replying. Tony waited for him to sift through relevant data and return a result.

“It appears that a large proportion of the diabetic community agrees with you. Some of the suggestions to treat a low include Smarties, Pixie Stix, juice boxes, tubes of icing, assorted gels and pastes, and dried fruit.”

“Those all sound better. Do we have any of them here? I mean, the normal things, like juice and fruit. Why would we have glucose gel or whatever it is. That would be weird. Order some of it though. You know what flavours I like,” Tony concluded, waving a hand around.

“If I may, there are also sour apple and watermelon tablets, if you would like to try those in addition to the other options.”

Tony shrugged. “Sure. Can't be worse than the orange.”

“Tropical blast flavour for the gel?”

Tony frowned. “That sounds iffy.”

“I'll continue looking,” Jarvis assured him.

“Thanks buddy,” Tony grinned, tossing another of the orange glucose tabs in his mouth. Two should be enough to get him up to a normal level without risking another low shortly after, but without the rebound high that came from eating too many carbs at once. It was a balancing act, and it was tedious, but let it never be said that Tony couldn't do it.

 


	10. Chapter 10

After three months of injections, and Tony not dying, he went back to see Nancy.

“Your numbers look pretty good,” she told him, pouring over the logs Tony had printed.

He puffed up a little bit with pride.

“Your A1C is 8.3, which isn't bad considering you were just diagnosed, and we played around with your dosage for a couple weeks.”

Tony nodded.

“Are you still thinking about switching to a pump?”

Tony grinned at her. “Of course I am. Trade in, trade up.”

Nancy smiled back. “There is a lot of training involved. You would need at least a few meetings with a pump coach before you started, and then you'd probably be on a trial of saline first. Are you prepared to make that commitment?”

“Of course,” Tony replied, but a tiny part of him was wondering if he really was.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony's pump educator was a man named Felix. Actually, he was more of a kid. He couldn't have been older than 25, but he told Tony that he'd been pumping for ten years, and had gotten a degree in it.

Tony didn't have a clue that it was the sort of thing you could even get a degree in. School was crazy these days.

 

Tony liked him though. He had a crazy sort of energy that was contagious, and didn't seem overly distracted that his newest client was _the_ Tony Stark. That was a bonus.

 

“So you want to start pumping, eh?” Felix asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Would I be here if I didn't?” Tony replied.

Felix shrugged. “You'd be surprised at the number of people who wander in here.” He laughed.

Tony highly doubted that, since his office was in the basement of a medical building and had taken Tony ten minutes to find it.

“They probably only wander in because they haven't had human contact in days, and are just relieved to find out that the world still exists,” Tony retorted.

Felix laughed again. “I like you,” he said after a minute, examining Tony closely. “Now, let's get down to business.”

 

The next two hours were filled with basal rates, advanced carb counting, dosages, and what exactly each of the buttons did. By the time Tony left Felix's office, his head was spinning, and not in a good way like when he'd discovered something new or had an idea for a great invention, but in a way where he didn't immediately understand a topic completely and therefore disliked it.

Or maybe he was just low. That was probably it.

 

He chewed on a glucose tab (green apple flavoured) as he waited for Happy to pick him up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After two more meetings with Felix, and a trial with a saline pump, Tony was indeed ready to start using actual insulin. The tubing freaked him out at first, since he was sure that any slight movement would tear it from his skin and he wouldn't notice, leaving him high and dry (aha, that pun). Felix had spoken with him about another pump that didn't have tubing, and just connected directly with the skin, but Tony didn't think he was ready for that either. It would be much harder to hide and fit in the suit.

So he made do with half a dozen feet of medical tape, and compulsively checked the tubing every time he remembered.

 

And as the days went on, and he didn't rip the tubing out, he eased up on the tape, because really, _body hair._ That stuff hurt. He adjusted his basal rates and called Felix up at odd hours with random questions, because he didn't realize what time it was when he called. He ate more freely and enjoyed only having to inject himself once every three days. Finger pricking he could deal with. (Of course, CGM was next on his list, after he got used to everything the pump had to offer.)

 

Except Tony didn't want to stop there. Sure, the insulin pump was great and everything, and the model he had was user friendly and the company was good, and customer service was great and he was happy with the care, and all that stuff, but Tony couldn't help but think he could do better.

 

So he sat himself down in his lab with the beginnings of an idea, and didn't come out for 16 hours until he had a working model, freshly 3-d printed and ready to go.

All he needed was a test subject for a trial.

 

(Jarvis talked him out of it until he'd slept for at least eight hours, and Tony only agreed after walking into the closed elevator doors.)

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It starts getting a bit shippy here, if you squint. And you are perfectly welcome to do so.

That model of the insulin pump worked well, but Tony couldn't help but make things _better._ So model number two came the week after, then model number three, and then number four, which seemed to be The One. He was already looking into patents and mass production through SI's medical department, which had been growing quickly in recent months. Which may have had something to do with his diagnosis. But that was beside the point.

He was also looking into non-invasive glucose monitoring, which was just as difficult as it sounded, and he wasn't making much headway on it, or improving the CGM system yet. And in between fighting aliens and assorted creatures and fixing his suit and making things for his team members and SHIELD and helping Pepper run the company, he didn't have a lot of time on his hands.

But he knew it would happen, eventually.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony was onto the third week of using the fourth model insulin pump he'd designed when Steve wandered into the kitchen while he was changing it. And instead of backing out awkwardly, apologizing, he sat down and watched.

Tony was somewhat confused, but internally shrugged and went about his business. Steve was probably just interested in the gadgets he'd been designing for himself rather than working on things for the team.

 

“You know, they didn't have insulin for the longest time,” Steve said thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. It remained firmly on four legs though. Barton was the only one stupid enough to try that. (Natasha took great pleasure in making him fall out.)

“Yes, thank you grandpa,” Tony muttered, swabbing his stomach with the alcohol. He really didn't like being watched when he stabbed himself, but Steve was sitting there looking kind of nostalgic and sad and Tony was fairly certain he was about to get a story about the good old days.

“Diabetes used to be a death sentence,” he continued.

Okay, maybe not.

“People would wither away and die. It was awful.”

Tony checked the tubing again.

“Uh huh,” he muttered, making sure the tubing was completely primed.

“But then Banting, I assume you know who he is right, the Canadian? He managed to isolate insulin, and just like that, it wasn't a death sentence any more.”

“I doubt it was 'just like that',” Tony muttered, pressing it against his stomach. It was fast, but it still hurt. He winced, and Steve noticed.

“You okay?” he asked with concern.

“Oh yeah. Peachy. Not a death sentence, remember? I'll be fine.”

Steve nodded. “He died in '41. I'd have loved to meet him. Shake his hand, thank him for all he'd done.”

Tony glanced up from smoothing down the site. “Not for you though. You weren't...”

Steve shook his head, smiling. “No, that was one of the few things I didn't have.” He glanced at Tony. “You all set there?”

Tony examined the screen. He still needed to work on the display and user interface, but he'd based it off of commercially available models, and it would certainly do for now. “Yup.”

Steve beamed. “Great. Clean up and let's go.”

“Go? Where are we going?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It's a surprise, idiot.”

Tony gaped at him. “Steven, did you just call me an idiot? I'll have you know I'm the smartest man you've ever met.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You do remember I've met your father, correct?”

“How could I possibly forget. No, I'm including him too. Now tell me, what is this big surprise. Do I need to bring a bathing suit?”

Steve frowned. “Is that seriously the first thing your mind goes to? No, just your normal stuff. And before you ask, no, we won't need your jet or the suit, so just... no.”

Tony pouted. “But I like the jet,” he protested.

Steve grinned at him. “You'll like this too. Get your stuff. Put on something casual and wear running shoes.”

He left the kitchen, and Tony halfheartedly began scooping up the discarded medical supplies. It was one thing he hated, that he couldn't avoid the scent or appearance of hospitals no matter where he went.

Perhaps it was also something to work on.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He made sure all the medical supplies were disposed of properly (yet another drawback, having to keep sharps containers in the Tower) and gathered up the things he'd need for wherever he was going with Steve. Really, he should have gotten some more warning or information, because Tony really liked knowing things.

The issue with having to take so many things with him was the pockets. He only had a limited number of pockets, and more things to fit in them. Because he still needed to bring his wallet and sunglasses and whatever else he had thrown in his pockets, but he also had to bring a glucometer and test strips and glucose tabs or snacks and... he ran out of space rapidly.

Thankfully, the team had thought of that (Bruce's idea probably) and presented him with an Iron Man backpack to keep things in (Clint's idea probably). It was definitely meant for kids, but Tony wasn't above using it ironically. Plus, _Iron Man._

So he tossed his stuff in and pleaded with Jarvis to tell him where Steve was planning on going while taking the elevator down to meet him.

Jarvis wouldn't spill though. Rude.

 

“Okay Steve, where are we going?”

Steve grinned at him. “Get in and you'll find out.”

“That is the start of so many Criminal Minds episodes,” Tony told him. But he tossed his backpack in and climbed into the passenger seat of one of his favourite cars as Steve settled himself behind the wheel.

“Why are you driving? That's what Happy is for you know.”

“I like driving sometimes,” Steve replied.

“In New York morning traffic?”

Steve grimaced. “Not so much, but it'll be worth it.”

“What'll be worth it?” Tony asked casually, glancing sideways to see if Steve took the bait.

“Oh no,” he laughed. “I'm not spilling. You just sit back and wait.”

Tony sighed, and did. For all of like, 2 minutes before he got bored.

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“When will we be there?”

“Hopefully in half an hour.”

Tony sighed again, and busied himself with his phone, working on schematics for CGMs. He was still working out the issues with accuracy and expense, and keeping them in balance so they'd be affordable.

 

He did keep an eye on the route they were taking though, and wasn't that surprised when Steve pulled into the Bronx zoo.

 

“Really Rogers?” he asked, glancing at Steve with a half smile. “You took me to the zoo?”

Steve didn't look at him while he parked, but he smiled a bit. “Yeah, well, it's hard to find things that you can't just buy. Although I'm sure you would just buy a zoo and keep it in the Tower if you felt like it.” He undid his seatbelt and turned to look at Tony.

“Don't tempt me,” Tony grinned, grabbing his bag out of the backseat and practically skipping towards the entrance.

He practically heard Steve roll his eyes before following behind him.

 


	12. Chapter 12

The zoo wasn't terribly busy, which was nice, because Captain America and Iron Man going out together, even if neither of them were in costume, still drew a lot of attention. Not quite as much as Thor, but still a lot.

 

Tony made the executive decision to start with the giraffes, because they were possibly the coolest, and Steve let him.

 

“You plan the trip out,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Just remember, we want to see everything, and you're not the one with the super soldier metabolism to keep you from getting tired of walking.”

“Steve, please, you're an old man. We could get you one of those carts if it's really that bad.”

Steve only rolled his eyes, and Tony grinned. “I'm an engineer, remember? I know how to design things for efficiency. Now, giraffes. Forward march!”

 

It wasn't too long of a hike to where the giraffes were, but Tony had to keep from getting distracted at the other exhibits. He told Steve the same thing.

“We'll come back to see them. Now come on. Giraffes.”

 

Finally, they were at the giraffes. Because giraffes were awesome. Same number of cervical vertebrae as human, but way longer necks. Weird tongues. Started life off rough with that kind of drop.

Bad ass, basically. And seeing them run?

Hilarious.

And maybe a little big majestic, but in a funny way.

 

“I want one,” Tony announced.

He knew what Steve was going to say before he even said it.

“No.”

Tony just continued on, ignoring him completely. “We could get a giraffe as a pet right? We have room for it. I could just take out Clint's floor and move him and Nat together. Bruce lives in his lab anyway. Combine the two floors and it would be high enough for the neck. This could work. This is doable. Steve, I'm gonna do it.”

Steve laughed, which was rude, because Tony was fairly certain this was an excellent plan. A team giraffe. Maybe they could even train it to fight?

“Tony, you're not going to do that. You just got those floors perfect, and I know, because you spent half an hour ranting about it the other night. And is owning a giraffe even legal in the middle of New York? Besides, you don't even know how to take care of one. There is a reason you have robots, remember.”

Tony sighed, and collapsed on a bench. Steve did make some good points, but that didn't mean he _liked_ them.

 

The hypo that hit him was quick and unforgiving. Which was a silly phrase, really. When would something be forgiving? It wasn't like the low blood sugar had self awareness, and decided, _oh, this isn't a good time, I'll be forgiving. Maybe later when he's not so busy._

Not at all.

Fuck, he was distracted.

 

Steve was still in front of him talking about the legality of owning giraffes in New York, which would be hilarious under almost any other circumstances, but he could feel the sweat on his skin and his hands were trembling and _fuck_ he'd done too much walking and hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and now he was paying for it.

“Steve,” he mumbled.

For whatever reason, that was enough to snap Steve out of his current rant about... people who shouldn't be allowed to keep dogs as pets, and Tony didn't even know how he got onto the topic. Wasn't he just talking about giraffes? He wasn't sure if that was an indicator of his mental state, or just that Steve tended to get distracted. Whatever.

Steve glanced over at him, and Tony managed to speak.“Steve m'low.”

“I'm sorry Tony, I should have realized,” he began, rushing to Tony's side and pulling his backpack off. Tony let it happen, since he wasn't sure he had the energy to do it himself. Hadn't he just been walking a minute ago?

“S'okay,” he mumbled, because it really wasn't Steve's fault his pancreas had suddenly decided to give up. In fact, he wasn't even sure how that happened, because diabetes was an autoimmune disorder and considering he was immunosuppressed from the reactor, shouldn't he have avoided the whole issue?

“Tony,” Steve said firmly, and he snapped back to the present.

Right. Steve was holding a juice box in front of his face, and he sipped at the offered straw. It was warm and sweet and almost disgusting, but he drank it because he knew he needed it.

When he reached the end of the juice, Steve removed it from his vision, and zipped open the pouch that held the glucometer and oh what was he doing. Nope.

“No,” Tony protested, pulling his hand away from where Steve had grabbed it. “Y'dunno how t'd'it.”

“Yes I do,” Steve told him gently, pulling his arm back. And really it was no contest. Steve was a supersoldier after all, and Tony was weak and shaky from the low.

“Bruce showed us all how to do it shortly after you were diagnosed. They mostly practiced on me, because I heal so quickly, but I got the practice in too, don't you worry. Come on.”

Tony reluctantly allowed Steve to take his hand and prick his finger. And true to his word, he knew just what to do, guiding the blood droplet to the test strip, which eagerly accepted the blood. He even stuck a tiny bandage on his finger while the machine counted down, which was really unnecessary, because finger bandaids never stayed on.

“I don't know what this means for you though,” Steve added, holding the meter up as it showed a 47. “I know it's low, but do you need something more than the juice box?”

“How many carbs?” Tony asked, the numbers swirling around in his head.

Steve checked the box. “18 grams.”

“Nah, should be good. We'll wait 15 mins and check 'gain.”

 

Steve sat on the bench next to him.

“We're still not getting a giraffe,” he added after a moment.

Tony laughed. “It could work.”

“As team leader, I think I have veto power over something like that.”

Tony shrugged. “My tower, my rules.”

“I thought it was _our_ tower?” Steve countered.

Tony only rolled his eyes.

“It was my name 'riginally on the side of the building. Don't forget that I only changed it cause aliens broke off the other letters.”

“That was considerate of them,” Steve agreed.

“Well, they didn't do much else,” Tony huffed. He was starting to feel a bit better. Less foggy. The tremors in his hands were still pretty obvious though.

Which of course Steve noticed, but for both of their sakes, he pretended not to.

 

“Have you ever seen one of them run?” Tony asked after a moment.

Steve glanced sideways at him. “What, a giraffe?”

Tony nodded.

“Can't say that I have.”

“It's hilarious,” Tony assured him. He motioned for his backpack, and Steve read between the lines and handed him his phone.

Tony typed it in and pulled up a video.

“See,” he told Steve, and they spent another few minutes watching a giraffe run. It was majestic as fuck.

He pulled up another one with a giraffe that was only ten days old. He fell over a few times, but it was absolutely adorable.

“I want one,” Tony repeated.

“No,” Steve replied, still watching the screen with fascination.

“They look like, you know that gif that's like a stick figure horse running or something, and then its feet go out from under it, and it just all falls apart? It's like that.”

“I have no clue what you're talking about.”

“I'd find it to show you, but I don't even know what to search,” he admitted.

“Probably for the best,” Steve agreed. “Wanna recheck?”

Not really, but he knew he should, so he did.

The meter flashed back 85 at him.

“Good to go?” Steve asked.

Tony grinned. “Yep. Onward. Pandas are up next. So. Cute,” he said seriously.

Steve smiled at him, with what Tony assumed was indulgence.

 

Whatever. He'd take it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day went without incident, except for the time Tony tried to buy a seven foot tall giraffe in the gift shop, which Steve didn't allow.

“It won't fit in the car,” he said firmly.

“I'll fly it home.”

“You didn't bring the suit.”

Tony's face apparently answered that.

“You brought the suit?” Steve sighed.

“No. Well, yes. It's in the car? Just the suitcase one. It's better to be safe than sorry,” Tony insisted.

“Still not getting it.”

 

Tony settled for a plush giraffe that fit perfectly under his arm.

He named it Steve.

 


	13. Chapter 13

The fucking Doughboys.

 

Really, that was all Tony had to say about that. Well, maybe a few other choice words.

 

Things had been going well, or at least as well as they could be when he was sort of a superhero, living with other superheroes, and a non functional pancreas. He'd finished designs for the CGM, which he was currently test running, with no bugs so far. (He made it, of course there were no bugs.)

 

But the Doughboys. Tony was having a hard time even giving a shit about them. Like, he knew that they were pretty good at property damage, but surely it wasn't an Avengers thing. Surely someone else out there was capable of handling them.

 

Apparently not.

 

They interrupted dinner and everything, which Tony was not pleased about, since it was from his favourite Italian place.

 

“I'm so. Sick. Of fighting. These. Stupid. Things,” Tony said through gritted teeth, punctuating each word with a repulsor blast.

Hulk roared in response.

“I hear you big guy,” Clint said sympathetically. “They don't make very rewarding targets. And they also don't do very much. I don't think they've been upgraded since the last round.”

Tony huffed. “You'd think that whatever evil scientist was making them would at least try to improve on his previous design.”

“Thankfully, not everyone is like you Stark,” Natasha retorted. “Otherwise they'd be shooting lasers at us by now.”

“Umm, no, they would have beat you in the first fight, because I don't built tech that sucks this much. I mean, except for Dum-E, but I was really _really_ drunk when I did his coding, and it shows.”

“Keep the chatter to a minimum,” Steve told them, but Tony could hear his smile. The guy was so predictable, and he had a soft spot a mile wide for Tony's bots. Maybe Tony should make him one.

Something to keep in mind for Cap's birthday.

 

He shot two more yellow ones out of the sky, and tried not to gag at the sound they made. Nearby, Hulk was roaring and smashing red and blue ones together. Effective. Clint had taken over the role of electrocution, since Thor was out of town, and was shooting electric net arrows that were able to take down dozens at a time.

 

Tony did a spin in midair, taking out at least six purple ones that were just hovering there. Intelligence had not been improved on them apparently. Clint was probably still bitter.

 

Civilians had been evacuated, there were no dogs to be stuck to things, honestly, Tony didn't understand why this was such a priority.

Maybe he was a bit bitter about being interrupted in the middle of a family meal.

Okay, family minus Thor.

 

Jarvis interrupted his stewing to make a point.

“Sir, the CGM is showing two downward arrows. I suggest you take a break and eat something.”

“Jarvis, suspend the pump,” Tony ordered.

“Done Sir, although if I may say-”

“No, you really can't J. I'm busy right now and I just ate, so the carbs are in my system. That should be good enough for now.”

Jarvis didn't respond, and Tony took that as reluctant permission.

He would have loved to stop, using his diabetes as an excuse, but since he felt fine, he didn't want to make a big fuss out of it. Steve would worry, and then half the team would be distracted, and that would be the time that the Doughboys banded together to make a giant Doughboy and collectively melt/freeze/dissolve/whatever the yellow ones did/suffocate the city.

 

So it could wait.

 

And he continued to feel fine as he took out colour after colour. He destroyed a veritable rainbow of flying goo. And yet, they kept coming. It was kind of pissing him off.

And okay, maybe he was a bit tired, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept, so that was normal. And the headache was due to having to listening to Clint yell 'pew pew' over the coms every time he shot one down. Steve tried to get him to stop, to no avail.

It was fine. He was fine. The only thing not fine was the fact that the Doughboys seemed to start multiplying in front of him. He'd gotten himself cornered against a building, and a horde of orange ones were advancing on him.

 

“Ugh, they're multiplying,” Tony muttered to himself, as the one orange Doughboy turned into two. He was having a hard time aiming as well, and his repulsor blasts only seemed to go in between the two of them.

“Tony, are you okay?” Steve asked. “Looks like they're ganging up on you over there.”

“Yeah, they're just multiplying on me. I've got this though.”

“Well, let us know if you need a hand,” Steve replied. Tony was pretty sure he sounded skeptical.

“I've already got two of them,” Tony told him. How could Steve forget that.

“Sir?” Jarvis said. “Sir, I must insist you stop now. Your blood glucose levels are dangerously low and-”

“Mute,” Tony said, because he was too tired to deal with Jarvis and couldn't seem to hit the stupid orange Doughboys that were right in front of him and he was just so sick of everything and wanted it all to stop.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He might have missed a bit after that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shows up 15 minutes late with coffee and a cliffhanger


	14. Chapter 14

He woke up to a next level tired that even a hypo shouldn't be able to induce.

“Ungh,” he grunted, which he intended to be 'what happened,' but if anyone asked, he was totally going for a grunt.

Someone flicked him in the thigh, and judging by the nails _oh god not the nails why did she always have to use the nails_ it was Natasha.

“You had a seizure you idiot,” she hissed.

“Why?”

“You had a very severe hypo,” Bruce told him, appearing on his other side. Yep, he still had two sides. Yep, that was good. Oh god, he was so slow. Was his brain damaged?

Tony flopped his head over to look at Bruce. Well, more correctly, make sad eyes at him until he explained or made Natasha stop hurting him. Possibly both.

“Do you remember?”

Tony frowned. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be remembering.

“I feel stupid,” he moaned.

Bruce patted him on the shoulder. “It's okay. The confusion will pass.”

Tony rolled over and tried to curl up into a tiny ball, away from Natasha's fingernails and basically everything. His plan was foiled by the stupid IV in his hand, which had been thoroughly taped down. He only needed a single look to know that he didn't have the fine motor skills to remove it at the moment. He glared at Bruce, who ignored it.

“Do you feel up to eating something?”

“No,” Tony growled. Rolling over had been a bit of a mistake. Everything ached, and some of it may have been as a result of... fighting someone? Something? He remembered a fight. Or some of it may have been from the seizure. He wasn't sure. He didn't think he'd ever had a seizure before.

Oh, and his stomach was... unsettled. The rolling motion certainly didn't help

“Do you feel sick?” Bruce prodded. “You threw up earlier when Steve gave you the glucagon, but that's pretty normal.”

“Ngh,” Tony agreed.

“Okay,” Bruce said, patting him on the shoulder. It was kind of nice. And maybe Tony enjoyed the heat that his hand provided. He was kind of chilly.

“Cold,” he muttered, closing his eyes again.

“I thought you'd say that,” Natasha murmured. There was a rush of air, then something heavy settled on him. Oh god, she'd brought his quilt. How did she even have time to do that? Actually he didn't care.

“Love you,” he muttered into his pillow.

“Oh I know,” Natasha agreed.

“You rest for a bit more Tony, okay. We'll take you home soon.”

And wow, it certainly showed a lot that Tony hadn't even complained about not being at home. He wasn't entirely sure of where he was, but it certainly wasn't home. An ER probably. But that was okay. He could deal with that for a while longer.

He was in no hurry to go anywhere.

 


	15. Chapter 15

When he woke up next, he was more lucid. He was still tucked under the quilt, most likely in the same room as before (but all hospital rooms looked the same, so who knew really). He was kind of surprised that no one else was in the room with him. Steve did like to watch over any of his team members when they were sick or hurt, and Tony didn't want to assume he'd be an exception.

 

While sweeping the room for hiding team members (sometimes Clint could be found in the ceiling, or Natasha practically blending into the furniture), Tony spotted his phone on the bedside table. He considered the energy expenditure versus the reward, and finally managed to coax one arm out from under the blankets to snatch it. He hissed at the pain, since apparently he'd gotten burned along his side, and maybe on his leg too. It was hard to tell, and there was definitely the hint of painkillers in his system.

 

He still managed to grab the phone, and turned it on to speak with Jarvis.

“Hey Jarvis,” he said softly.

“Sir,” Jarvis replied. He sounded relieved, which was probably just Tony's imagination. He didn't program Jarvis to have emotions, and it was still up in the air whether someone could learn emotions or not.

“Sorry I didn't listen to you.”

“Yes, perhaps you should be.”

“Harsh.”

“You experienced one of the most severe symptoms of hypoglycemia. Had it gone untreated, you could have suffered from brain damage.”

Tony frowned. Jarvis knew that he valued his mind above all else.

“Dirty pool J,” he announced.

“I'm simply trying to drive home the point. Sir,” he added.

“I didn't program you with that sass. You've been hanging around Barton too much. He's a bad influence.”

“Agent Barton and I have a number of discussions about Tower security. If anything, he has been a positive influence.”

Tony waved a hand. “Whatever. Bring up the CGM data and the stuff from the pump. I want to see if I can figure out what went wrong.”

 

He needed to make some changes. A hypo so severe that it caused a seizure was never supposed to happen. And even if his numbers were good, he didn't want to live with the risk of just falling asleep and never waking up.

So clearly, not having a glucose source built into the suit was a mistake. And it was also a mistake to ignore Jarvis's advice about taking a break to have a snack, but he suspended the pump, which should have been enough to tide him over until they'd finished. Except it wasn't.

And there was maybe also the thing where he kept his levels borderline low. He should probably stop that. Margin of error, or whatever.

 

He made a note to adjust his basal rate, and to look over the insulin to carb ratio. And he turned the alarm on the CGM back on. There wasn't much point having it if he was just going to ignore it. Double down arrows were really not a good thing, and needed a not good noise to correspond.

 

“Can you run me through the events?” Tony asked. He'd finished making the notes and was attempting to piece together his memories.

“I informed you that there were double down arrows on the CGM, which you chose to ignore.”

“Yeah, I remember that part. How did I get the burns?”

“When you collapsed, some of the orange Doughboys managed to penetrate part of the armour. The burns are from their acidic... surface.”

“Skin?” Tony asked.

“It's uncertain whether it could be classified as skin. After this happened, I moved the armour to a safe located and notified Captain Rogers.”

“And what were my levels at then?”

“At the time of notifying Captain Rogers, your blood glucose level was measuring at 29, despite the pump being suspended.”

“Ouch,” Tony muttered. “Okay, continue.”

“Captain Rogers reached you in less than a minute, carrying the glucagon. I assisted him with releasing you from the armour, and he injected the glucagon into you. This took approximately seven minutes, during which time your blood glucose levels dropped further to 25, and you began to experience a generalized tonic-clonic seizure.”

“Oh god,” Tony whispered. He couldn't imagine how awful that had been for Steve.

“Captain Rogers performed remarkably well under the pressure, although he seemed to be very anxious at the time, which is understandable.”

Tony nodded mutely.

“Shortly after the injection, the seizure stopped, and you vomited, which is a common side effect of glucagon. From there you were taken to the nearest emergency room, which is the same hospital you are in now.”

“Busy day, huh?”

“The Doughboys were taken care of, if that was a concern.”

“Right. It probably should be, huh?”

“Perhaps not at the forefront of your mind. You are likely to be released this evening.”

Tony nodded. “Thanks buddy. And sorry again for not listening.”

 

There was a knock at the door. “Tony?”

Tony looked up to see his favourite super soldier. “Steve! Hey, what's up?”

“I should probably be asking you that. Am I interrupting anything?” he asked, gesturing to the phone.

“Nah, just running over some things with J. He says I'll probably be released tonight,” he said hopefully.

Steve smiled. “I have no idea. I just came to see if you were awake.”

“Yes,” Tony nodded. “Yes I am awake.” He reached up awkwardly to run a hand through his hair. “So... apparently you were the one who... saved me I guess? Thanks for that.”

“Oh. Yeah. It was no problem.”

Tony stared at him for a minute. “You were terrified, weren't you?”

“So much,” Steve agreed.

He slumped into the chair next to Tony's bed.

Tony ran a hand through his hair again.

“Sorry about letting you down in the middle of battle like that.”

Steve laughed. “Tony, it was the Doughboys. And besides, you didn't let anyone down. These things happen.”

Tony didn't say anything for a minute. “And for almost dying I guess,” he added.

Steve looked more solemn at that, and only nodded in response.

 

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he said after a moment, softly.

Tony nodded. “I'm working on it.”

And Tony was kind of surprised to realize he meant it.

 

(If the grin on Steve's face as he heard that made Tony light up inside, well, that wasn't important.)

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am Ashamed it took me this long to post, mostly because I finished the fic OVER A YEAR AGO. Public shaming may now commence.

He was released from the hospital with instructions for wound care, and an appointment with his dietitian for the following week.

In the meantime, Tony had already made adjustments to his basal rate and had written new protocols for lows.

 

There was only one thing left to do. Deal with the stupidity that was glucagon.

Because honestly, what kind of emergency medication required mixing?

Fucking stupid ones, that's what. So he set his mind to fixing the problem.

 

He emerged from his lab two days later with the prototype. And yes, he'd been eating and checking his BG levels and taking care of himself, he wasn't irresponsible.

“But no, look,” he insisted. “It's awesome.”

He gathered his team round to listen to his scientific breakthrough. (Minus Thor, who was still out of town doing whatever lightning gods did.)

“Okay, so glucagon is pretty unstable as a solution. It only lasts for a little while, which is why it has to be mixed just before being injected, which is really time consuming, especially if you're panicking.”

He gestured to Steve, who nodded.

“But, if you're a genius like me,” he took a moment to bow, “then you will have realized that you can make something better. So behold! The new and improved, which is a contradiction in itself, something can't be both new and improved, but whatever, glucagon pen!”

He brandished it at everyone.

“Okay Tony,” Bruce said, rubbing his temples. “Explain how it's so much better.”

“So instead of having to mix the powder and the fluid and then draw it back into the syringe, this one just needs to be twisted to mix them, then you inject it. Easy. When we do market it for consumer use, I'm thinking of having the instruction right on it, just like an epi-pen.”

“That would actually be really helpful,” Steve said, sounding impressed.

“You know me, I'm the epitome of helpfulness. Don't,” he warned everyone, looking specifically at Clint and Nat as he said it. He knew they were just killing themselves with possible responses. Even Steve smirked.

“Anyway,” Tony continued, “the point is that although I've adjusted protocols and dosing schedules and such, in the case that this ever happens again, we will be prepared.”

“We?” Steve repeated. He was practically beaming. “Yes, _we_ will be.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You're so lame Cap.”

“No,” Bruce interjected, “I think it's a very nice sentiment.” He was smiling as well.

“You're all a bunch of softies. Except for Natasha, who would never admit it. I hate all of you,” Tony declared.

 

“Nah, you definitely love us. Besides, I saved your life,” Steve told him.

“As a team, we've saved your life at least five times,” Bruce added.

Tony frowned. “I'm going to need proof of those.”

Natasha held up her fingers and began counting down. “If it counts, when I stabbed you with the lithium dioxide-”

“It doesn't,” Tony told her.

“Then when you fell through the wormhole and Hulk yelled at you to wake up, when you were first diagnosed, the first low you had after I beat you up, that time you were at the zoo with Steve-”

“How does everyone know about that?” Tony muttered.

“- and just a few days ago when you had the seizure,” Natasha finished. “I'm sure there will no doubt be more.”

“Whatever,” Tony muttered. “Fine, apparently I owe you. That doesn't mean I have to like you though!” he declared.

Clint scoffed and waved a hand at Tony, getting up to leave. “I'm not sure why I had to come if you won't let me touch needles,” he complained.

“Because you stabbed yourself,” Steve and Tony said at the same time. Tony glared at him.

“If you accidentally stabbed yourself with an autoinjector contained epinephrine or glucose, you could have a reaction to it,” Bruce explained, slightly more patiently.

Clint waved a hand. “Emergencies only, got it. And I could always shoot it at him. That would work right?”

“Just throwing this out there right now, I never want Clint to be the one to save me,” Tony said. “Or come near me at any point. In fact, why is he on our team?”

Clint rolled his eyes and sauntered out of the room, and Natasha followed shortly after, adding “Because without us, you're the weakest link.”

Tony blinked at that. “Wow, rude. Okay, that was rude.”

 

Steve smiled, but it was definitely an indulgent smile, like Tony was a child.

Tony brandished the pen at them. “There is definitely something else I could say here, but I think it's time for a snack.” He was feeling slightly fuzzy around the edges.

“Is there any of that cake left?” Bruce wondered. He was talking about the orange chocolate cake Natasha had made the day before after a short mission that Tony had missed completely while he was in his lab. He definitely didn't miss the cake though, because it was amazing.

 

“Let's hope so,” Tony beamed, and raced them to the kitchen. If there was only one slice left, he would fight them to the death.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Tony was working on a new arrow for Clint, one that would explode with a sticky substance on contact, when Jarvis interrupted him.

“Sir, I have located the headquarters of Baron Zemo.”

Tony frowned. “Who's that Jarvis? I didn't think we had any searches going on.”

“Not as such, no, but I had been keeping track of any Doughboy related news, and I believe I found their source.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, the home of Baron Zemo, a former associate of Arnim Zola, whom I believe was the creator of the Doughboys.”

“Home?”

“Well, it's more of a castle or secret base than a home I suppose. Would you like me to inform the other team members?”

Tony considered that. Considered what he had planned for the person who'd annoyed him for far too long. Vengeance was going to be _sweet._

“Actually, you know what J? I think I'm going to enjoy telling them. Leave it to me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Purple Doughboy shaming became a thing after the second fight with them apparently, a number of pictures cropping up online of people holding signs in front of purple Doughboys to take pictures. (Clean up had taken longer than usual, seeing as how Tony was otherwise occupied, and so were half his teammates. The purple ones didn't so much, so they weren't as big of a concern.)

Tony's favourite read 'I was taken down by a cat with no claws', and also featured said cat looking very proud of their kill. (Clint was still bitter.)

 

Tony was almost going to be sad to see them go.

Eh, not really.

 

He whooped as he dove through the air, sending a repulsor blast into the gate into the castle, allowing the vehicle carrying Nat, Clint, Bruce, and Steve to enter the castle grounds.

 

“Tony, you're on air cover. And if you do find him first, wait til we get there. We want to watch.”

Tony grinned.

 

The guy may have lived in a castle, but it certainly didn't have the defenses of one. There were security cameras that Tony took out, only after making sure there was a good view of the red and gold streak beforehand. There were also lasers, which were child's play, and actual piranhas. Tony didn't think anyone used those.

But considering they were in the moat, and Tony was cozy inside a suit of gold titanium alloy, he just waved his fingers at them and flew over. Maybe the tower needed some fish, if Steve wasn't going to let him have a giraffe. Tony was still slightly bitter about that.

 

It wasn't hard to find the guy either, because his support staff was surprisingly light considering he lived _in a freaking castle._ Tony had more people than that on a single floor of his tower, any day of the week.

He was digressing.

Jarvis located a heat signature, up in one of the towers that seemed more technologically advanced than the rest. That was probably his control room. Would he have a control room with the way his castle was pitifully defended? Tony had no clue.

It certainly wasn't difficult for him to get there, just flew up a spiral staircase and actually opened a door. Didn't blast it down or anything.

“Hey,” Tony greeted the man sitting in front of screens. He spun in his chair.

“You?” he hissed.

“Yep, it's me, Iron Man. I'd just like you to know I've been personally victimized by your stupid Doughboys, as have the other members of my team. This is for them.” He repulsored the man in the chest and he fell to the floor. Jarvis scanned him. Unconscious, but still breathing.

Tony turned his com on. “Guys, got him. North corner of the building, in one of those tower things. He's not going anywhere.”

 

It took a few minutes for the rest of the team to make it up there, Hulk not quite fitting in the spiral stairwell, and finally just climbed up the outside of the building. The dude was awake by then, and looking pretty upset at having his castle invaded.

 

“Hey bud,” Clint said cheerfully. “We need to talk about your Doughboys. Mostly about why the purple ones were useless. I mean, seriously, what were they supposed to do? Cause they don't do anything! Do you just hate purple? What is wrong with you man?!” he yelled.

Natasha pushed him back a bit.

“You've been causing a lot of trouble for us lately,” Steve stated evenly. “You hurt one of our friends.”

He was making his angry face, and for once it wasn't aimed at Tony.

The guy looked actually terrified then, compared to his false bravado when it was only Tony in the room. And yeah, when Cap had his angry face on, Tony was terrified too. Served him right.

 

“Hulk here is going to carry you back to our plane, and then you're going to be going to prison for a long time. The Doughboys aren't the only thing we can connect you to, although they may be the most annoying.”

Hulk looked gleeful, and took the man by the back of the shirt when Steve nodded to him.

“Hulk carry,” he announced. He then jumped out the window he'd made in the wall to let himself in.

The screaming followed them all the way down.

 

“Back to the jet?” Tony asked. “Or should we let Hulk have some more fun with him first?”

Natasha smiled and cocked her head. “I still hear screaming. We could probably walk down the stairs slowly?” she offered.

 

Tony grinned and checked the HUD. Blood glucose level was holding steady at 107, maker of Doughboys was currently experiencing the ride of his life courtesy of Hulk, and everyone on his team was safe. Everything was great.

“Sounds good,” he agreed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> throws the rest of the fic out there, because why not  
> ps I finished this fic before civil war was a thing so ignore any ideas you may have about zemo mkay


End file.
